Back to Good
by lionoflannister
Summary: Jaime Lannister sets out to restore his honor by rescuing Sansa Stark. Along the way, he encounters many setbacks and is forced to ask himself how far he'll go before his honor is restored. Set during and after the events of Dance With Dragons.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 01

…_she's been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and probably Moon Boy for all I know_

_Lancel… Kettleblack…. Moon Boy_

_Cersei is a lying __**whore**_

…_fucking Lancel, Osmund Kettleblack, Moon Boy…_

Jaime opened his eyes after fighting with sleep that would not come. His eyes ached, his head throbbed, and his phantom fingers pained him. Slowly, he sat up and brushed his golden blonde hair from his face with his left hand. He shot a look of disgust at his right stump, forever cursing its uselessness. He swung his legs over the side of his bed and felt his bones crack. He wasn't as young as he used to be and his body never really recovered from the toll it had taken from the Brave Companions.

It was another night, another long battle with sleep. Jaime had always been a light sleeper. As a knight, a member of the Kingsguard, he was always prepared to awake at the slightest whisper in case he had a duty to perform. As the lover of Her Grace the Queen, he'd trained himself to fight sleep no matter how tired she'd made him. On the very rare occasion they attempted more than a quick tryst, when they attempted to hold each close and waste time whispering sweet nothings in each others' ears, Jaime had trained himself to jolt awake to his senses at the slightest scuffle.

His body had gotten used to getting little sleep. In fact, he felt weighted and groggy if he slept too long. Still, in those times he got _some_ sleep. Now, he tossed and turned and groaned while the Imp's words replayed over and over and over in his mind.

_She's been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and probably Moon Boy for all I know._

Jaime felt his teeth grit at the thought. The worst part of all was that he knew Tyrion, his younger brother, the infamous Imp, wasn't a liar. He'd discovered the truth from a blubbering Lancel Lannister. Lancel, now turned a pious waste, was desperate to cleanse himself of sin. Desperate to confess all he'd done wrong. In his moment of confession, he'd told Jaime exactly what Jaime had feared was always true. Cersei had betrayed him and the Imp wasn't a liar after all.

Clumsily, Jaime pulled on his breeches. He'd need a servant or a squire to tie them. He'd gotten proficient at _untying_ his breeches, but still hadn't figured out how to tie them back. He pulled on his tunic next and then sat down in a small wooden chair in front of his desk. Maps and letters were strewn untidily across the surface. He thought idly that his father wouldn't approve.

"_What does that matter?" _Jaime thought. _"Lord Tywin is dead. No one has do anything __**his**__ way anymore."_

Outside, the birds were already singing their morning songs. It wouldn't be long before the sunrise. With it, the host he'd brought to settle the siege of the riverlands would rise as well. Then, his tent would be invaded with a flurry of lords, squires, and servants, eagerly awaiting their next move.

They were at Pennytree, a small village in the riverlands. Jaime had managed to settle matters with the Blackwoods and the Brackens. Soon, he'd be allowed to return back to King's Landing. To _Cersei._

He couldn't help but shudder at the thought.

_She's been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and probably Moon Boy for all I know._

And then, he heard the boy. Jaime's eyes flicked to the opening of the tent and saw the outline of one of his squires, Lewys Piper.

"Ser Jaime, it's morning," he said eagerly from his spot outside. Jaime rolled his eyes. _Of course it's morning you stupid boy_, he might've said.

"Fetch me some wine and something for breakfast," Jaime called back in reply, slumping in his chair. "And hurry. If you see Paege along the way, send him here."

Squires. Jaime had three with him. Lewys Piper, Garrett Paege, and Josmyn Peckledon. More annoying, he had Tytos Blackwood's bookish boy Hoster trailing behind him now. _Gods, would that I could give them to someone else._

He rose from his chair and, on cue, Garrett Paege stood outside Jaime's tent and requested entry. Jaime scowled as Paege helped him dress. It never ceased to irk Jaime that he was a man past thirty, yet now needed the help of boys just to dress himself.

Once Paege finished helping Jaime put on his surcoat, Jaime shooed him away. Then, turning, Jaime reached for his golden hand. Sighing, he fastened it himself and looked at it in disgust. As valuable as his new hand was, he would've paid all of the gold in Casterly Rock to have his old one back.

He wasn't left with his thoughts long. Just as he was finally dressed, the first lord poked his head into Jaime's tent. By the time Piper had returned with breakfast and servants to feed the rest, the tent was filled with people, each needing to speak with Jaime urgently.

They spoke of their next move, spoke of what they would do once they returned to Riverrun, if they would disband or pursue the rebels. Jaime felt much like Tommen at a Small Council meeting. He was now forever distracted, consumed by the thought of his sister fucking his cousin, that hairy oaf Kettleblack and the fool Moon Boy. The thought of her fucking them made his stomach turn as it always did. Coupled with a sick stomach, throbbing head, and his always-aching phantom hand, Jaime had no mind to handle these matters.

Then, as if one of the Seven had heard Jaime's silent prayer, he heard a struggle outside of his tent, causing the voices inside to die to silence.

"I **must** see him!" a voice boomed. He knew that voice from anywhere.

"_But what is the wench doing here?"_ He thought.

Quickly, he stood up and slammed his golden hand on the table. "Let her enter!" he barked.

Seconds later, the big wench lumbered into his tent. Jaime's mouth slackened at the sight of her. She was always ugly and nothing would change that. However, her face had been utterly destroyed. By what, he couldn't say. Somehow, the wench had managed to make herself uglier than ever. She even looked as though she'd aged considerably since he'd seen her.

"_Gods… but what has happened?_" he wondered.

"Ser Jaime," she said breathlessly, falling to her knees in front of him. "You must come. You must come _now_."

Jaime's eyes scanned her face. Her big, blue eyes were filled with tears threatening to spill over. Her wide, flattened nose remained in tact. Those were the only parts of her face that he remembered. Sores covered her face. _Are those bite marks?_, he wondered, feeling concerned about what had happened.

"Jaime, _**please**_," the wench pleaded. "I know where Sansa Stark is and I can take you to her. But you have to come with me, else the Hound will kill her!"

"The Hound?" he wondered aloud. "The Hound has her?"

"Yes, and I can take you to her!" She insisted.

"_Something isn't right," _Jaime thought. _"This doesn't make sense."_

Still, he nodded at the wench and turned toward the lords, squires, and servants in the tent.

"If you'd all be so kind, I'd like a moment with Lady Brienne to talk about this issue of Sansa Stark," Jaime said curtly. Although there were minor objections in the forms of guffaws and grunts, no one openly spoke up. Soon enough, the tent was clear and Jaime and Brienne remained. "Gods be good, what in Seven Hells happened to you?"

"It doesn't matter," Brienne replied, flushing scarlet. "It doesn't matter. We're a day's ride from Lady Sansa if you'll hurry."

"Fine," Jaime conceded. "I'll have my squires ready their –"

"No," Brienne said sharply, cutting him off. "You need to come alone with me."

"Don't be stupid, wench. You think I'm to fight off the Hound alone? I have plenty of good men here with me, men who might be able to fight off Clegane. You won't be able to and I'm a cripple now," Jaime spat.

His head throbbed more, and his hand itched to grasp his sword pommel. He didn't even have his sword with him, but it wouldn't matter if he had. It'd been an old habit of his before his right hand had been cleaved off. Now that he wore his sword on his right side, he couldn't easily grip the pommel and his golden hand was always awkwardly knocking against the hilt.

"Trust me, Jaime," Brienne said softly, looking at him with her big, blue eyes. "You trust me, don't you? Trust me in this. You have to come alone."

"_This is folly_," Jaime snarled inwardly. He couldn't take the Hound and neither could the wench. Still, he wouldn't abide her tears. He sighed and then fell back into his chair.

"Fine. _Fine_. Just know, you're leading us to our deaths, wench," he growled. "Sit. Eat. Drink. You'll need your strength."

Silently, Brienne moved to a chair while Jaime called for his squires to saddle his horse and retrieve a fresh one for Brienne. He rose and awkwardly fastened his sword belt. It was a task he'd had to relearn to do one-handed, and it took him many sleepless nights to manage. Still, even that hadn't brought him any peace. His sword and dagger were in the wrong place, and no matter how many times he tried to train himself to reach to his right, his golden hand always shot out to his left to grasp at air. In battle, he would've been dead a hundred times over for that mistake, and Ser Ilyn Payne had given him many bruises and lumps for that mistake.

Brienne remained silent while he finished readying himself. Even as they walked from the tent and walked through the sea of Lannister crimson tents, she was silent. It made Jaime uneasy. He was trusting her, but he knew he shouldn't. His stomach turned more.

"I'll be back soon," he told his squire, Piper. "Stay out of trouble. Also, tell them to prepare two more tents, befit for noble ladies. We'll return with Lady Stark."

Piper merely blinked at Jaime. Even the boy thought what Jaime was doing was folly.

"Go," Jaime barked, sending his squire off. He didn't want to abide the boy's wide-eyed stare. Once mounted, Jaime turned and looked at Brienne, who had paled considerably since walking from his tent in the center of their camp.

"Well, wench," Jaime goaded. "You know the way. Lead me to her."

"_Sansa Stark is my last chance for honor_," Jaime reminded himself. "_Whatever that means to anyone. Whatever that means to __**me**__."_

Jaime gritted his teeth and spurred his horse forward after Brienne. He was unsure where the wench was taking him and his uneasiness had soured his stomach.

_She's been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and probably Moon Boy for all I know._

Jaime scowled. Even his uneasiness about where the wench was taking him didn't unsettle him as much as the thought of his sister fucking others. His grip on his reins tightened, and for a moment, he thought maybe he'd be able to take on the Hound as long as he pictured it was Kettleblack.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 02

Brienne had been silent. Utterly silent. Jaime remembered a time when he would have given anything to shut the wench up. When they had traveled to King's Landing, he had dreamed of clobbering her in her temple with a rock. Now, she slumped in her saddle, looked straight ahead, and only spoke if spoken to.

The day was still relatively young… or at least Jaime thought so. The sun was covered by the clouds, making it hard to tell the time. The air was damp and heavy and he reckoned it might rain soon. In front of Jaime rode Brienne, her height and broad back made it hard for him to look far ahead of her. Old, tall trees lined the road they cantered down and the leaves rustled in the wind. Fallen brown leaves covered the road and crunched underneath the horses' hooves. Even the tall grasses had begun to brown and shrivel.

Jaime tried to remember the last time the seasons changed. He'd lived most of his adult life in the long summer and struggled to recall anything else. Warm and golden. Golden like his hand. Like _Cersei_. Jaime shivered, but he wasn't sure if it was the thought of his sister or the cool breeze that made him do so.

He snapped out of his thoughts. "Wench, we should consider stopping for a bit," he called to Brienne. "It looks as though it might rain. I, for one, don't want to my horse to be injured walking in mud." It was a stupid reason and Jaime knew it. But he wanted to stop. As long as Brienne had her back to him, she'd never crack and tell him what was happening. But, if he could get her to look at him…

"No, Kingslayer," she called back. "We ride on."

_Kingslayer_. There was a name she hadn't called him in a while. He was shocked at first, and then, angered. Something had happened to her. Something wasn't right. And it made this trip to find Sansa seem more and more like a lie.

_Cersei is a lying whore. She's been fucking Lancel, Osmund Kettleblack, and probably Moon Boy for all I know._

"_Well, if the big wench __**is**__ lying, she wouldn't be the first," _Jaime thought, disgusted.

"Ride on to where, exactly?" Jaime asked, spurring his horse. He slowed down once he was riding beside her. Letting go of his own reins, he reached across to take hers.

Immediately, Brienne drew her dagger and thumped his left hand hard with the pommel. Jaime cursed the wench, the gods, and everything around him loudly and cradled his left hand to his chest.

"Try that again and find yourself without any hands," Brienne snapped. She twisted in her saddle to face him. Her blue eyes blazed with an emotion Jaime couldn't pinpoint. Anger? Frustration? Sadness even? "I told you where we're going. We're going to rescue the Lady Sansa Stark."

"I heard you the last half a hundred times," Jaime replied through gritted teeth. His left hand still throbbed. "Maybe I believed you at first, but the further we get from my camp, the colder you get. We aren't going to find the Stark girl at all."

Brienne twisted back around her saddle and stared directly ahead. "If you distrust me, you have the means to leave and return to your camp."

"No, I don't," Jaime replied bitterly. "If you wanted to keep me, _you_ have the means to keep _me_. I might put up a bit of a fight, but in the end, you'd have me."

"You're the Kingslayer. The greatest swordsman in Westeros," she said dryly.

"Gods, you're dull but I know you aren't _that_ stupid. I might've been the best once, but my day has passed. Men fear me for what I was, not for what I am," Jaime sighed. His best days were behind him now. He'd never know the glory he once had.

"And what are you now?" Brienne asked, keeping her head faced forward.

Jaime considered her question for a moment before chuckling darkly. "Why, I'm nought but a cripple. A rich cripple, I'll grant you, but cripple none the less."

With that, Brienne spurred her horse forward and away from him. Jaime rolled his eyes and stayed behind her.

Why was he following her? He was almost certain now that she wasn't taking him to Sansa Stark. At first, he'd trusted her completely, believed that she had found the Stark girl. However, the further they got from his camp, the colder and nastier she got toward him. She was never the warmest of people, but this… this was different.

He could try to flee. Maybe he could outrun her on this horse. But he wasn't as fine of a horseman as he used to be. He could only grip the reins with one hand, making it harder to control the horse. Even if he could outrun her for a time, his horse would need to rest eventually before he made it back. Brienne would doggedly follow him until she found him again.

And then what? Jaime knew combat with the wench was folly. Ilyn Payne thumped him over and over again every night they trained. And although Payne was a fine knight in his own right, even he wasn't as good as Brienne. She wouldn't kill him, or at least he didn't _think_ she would. If she had planned to do that, she would have already. No, she'd likely restrain him so he couldn't run off again. _And then what?_

If they weren't going to the Stark girl, then _where_?

Jaime tried to piece the puzzle together in his mind, but it just didn't fit together. Something was missing. He thought again of his little brother, Tyrion, as he did so often in these times.

"_Being strong is too esteemed_," Jaime thought to himself, looking down at his golden hand. "_We place too high a value on strength. If only I had my brother's intellect, maybe I wouldn't even be here at all._"

That night, it _did_ rain, just as Jaime had thought. Cold rain fell from the skies, matting his hair to his face. He felt trickles of rain run down his back, causing him to shiver. Worse, the wind had grown stronger and colder, and its bite gnawed Jaime to the bone.

The wench had obliged him and they'd stopped for the night; however, it was unlikely either would be resting. It was too cold and wet for rest, and worse, too cold and wet for a fire. Jaime took refuge under a tree. However, the leaves were nearly gone and it offered him little protection. Still, he closed his eyes and tried to curl up and find _some_ comfort. His efforts were futile. It would be another sleepless night for Jaime Lannister.

Thunder rattled the skies above them. A crack of lightning lit up the forest around them, and for a brief second, he caught sight of the wench. She sat opposite of him, leaning against a tree. However, she hadn't even tried to lie down. She sat up straight, staring ahead. If the wind and rain bothered her, she gave no indication. Lightning flashed again and Jaime saw that her position remained unchanged.

She'd always been a stubborn wench. Even though she knew she could best him in a fight, even though she knew he couldn't escape and get very far, she sat straight up, watching, listening. Waiting.

"_I almost hate to disappoint her_," Jaime thought, his teeth chattering. "_I mean to get out of this alive and fighting with her and weakening myself would serve me no good._"

The rains lasted for most of the night. Jaime had been awake for nearly every minute of those seemingly endless hours. It was one of the longest nights of his life. Almost as long as the night Joffrey was born. He'd been terrified his sister might meet the same fate as their mother and nearly drove himself to insanity waiting to hear that she was fine.

"_Cersei… I should be with you. You should've let me stay. I'd never give you bad advice. I love you. I'd never hurt you. Cersei, why did you send me away?" _Jaime wondered. He was in some state between being awake and being asleep. His head throbbed. The birds of the forest were awake and singing their morning songs. He could see a golden sunrise, and from it, Cersei stepped out. Her long, flowing hair blew in the wind. She looked beautiful. She always looked beautiful, but this vision was ethereal. She could've been the Maiden herself. Jaime felt himself reach toward her. He saw his hand extend, his _right_ hand, his real one. Cersei's eyes locked with his, then she began to laugh. He retracted his hand and saw it was only a stump. She laughed harder.

_She's been fucking Lancel, Osmund Kettleblack, and probably Moon Boy for all I know._

Jaime's eyes opened at once. The sun was shining. It was bright on that crisp morning. His golden hand was still attached and reflected dazzling gold in his face. His vision had only been a dream.

"_At least I got some sleep, no matter how poor_," he conceded. Slowly, he sat up and looked around. Brienne was saddling the horses. He pushed himself up from the ground and gingerly walked toward her. His whole body hurt, and every step jarred him.

"Get any sleep, wench?" he hissed as he approached.

"I got enough," she answered coolly. "Get on. We're riding to Lady Sansa today."

"You're still on about that?" Jaime asked. "I'm not as smart as my little brother, but I'm smart to enough to know that you're lying. You've been lying."

Brienne turned and fixed her eyes on his. Her blue eyes blazed, and her nostrils flared slightly. She was intimidating, especially now that he was without his right hand. "You… _You_ keep calling me a liar. You of all people have no right to call me so. Get on your horse now."

Jaime had reached his breaking point. He was being dragged to some unknown place by the wench with no explanation. He regretted ever giving Brienne Oathkeeper and sending her on a mission to find Sansa Stark. He cursed himself for agreeing to come with her now. He should've seen right through her from the beginning. But he hadn't. Sometime after getting his hand chopped off, Jaime had started to care again. He cared what others thought of him and, admittedly, he even cared what Brienne thought of him. He sought to regain some shred of honor and restore his name from the infamy of his kingslaying. Sending Brienne off and rushing into this doomed mission was caused because he wanted his honor back.

The lion had concerned itself with the opinion of the sheep. Somewhere, Jaime's father, Tywin, turned in his grave in disgust at his older son.

"Tell me the truth, _wench_," Jaime demanded, seething. His golden hand reached across to grasp his sword, but was met with nothing but air. He cursed the gods. All of his life he'd reached across right-to-left, and no matter how many nights he'd practiced, he could never remember that it was now left-to-right.

Brienne was big, but she was quicker than she looked. The golden hand flashed in the sunlight, and she reacted immediately once Jaime moved. Brienne swiftly drew her dagger and before Jaime realized what was happening it'd already happened. The wench slammed the pommel of her dagger into Jaime's temple, and everything went black.

When Jaime awoke, he was surprised to find that he was in a bed. A hard bed made of scratchy straw, but a bed all the same. He had no idea how long he'd been lying there, but he wagered at least a day. His clothes smelled sour from being wet so long. He ran his left hand through his hair and noted it was greasy. He had never wanted a hot bath more in his life.

He lay still in the bed and stared at the ceiling. So, he wasn't dead. Yet. He lay still and made no plans to move. Leaving the room could mean trouble for him, and he had no desire to die after coming this far. He ignored his dry, scratchy throat and the growls from his stomach. He'd survived in far worse squalor than an itchy bed.

Jaime didn't have long to himself, however. The door to his room slowly creaked open, and the wench quietly walked in. He was pleased to see that she'd brought him some bread, cheese, and cup of something. Water, he supposed.

"I'm so sorry," Brienne whispered. Her eyes shone with tears that threatened to fall.

"For what?" Jaime rasped. "For hitting me in the head?"

"No," she said simply, setting the food on the bedside table. "For what's to come."

Before Jaime could ask what she meant, Brienne fled the room. Now, he was sure he was going to die. The wench had just delivered him his last meal. He pushed himself up with his left hand and leaned heavily against the headboard.

"This better damn well be wine then," Jaime remarked to no one but himself. He reached across for the cup and took a sip, sighing in disappointment when it was only water. Still, he drank it and ate the bread and cheese too. He'd once wondered what his last meal would be. In his mind, it wasn't this. Instead, it was roasted quail or a hearty stew made of venison to be washed down with dark beer. Something fit for a warrior… a knight.

"_Such ideas are only for a green, naïve boy_," Jaime thought as he chewed the hard bread. He moved his cup up for another drink of water, but stopped when he heard a clatter of hooves outside. Next, he listened at shouts traded back and forth. He moved from his spot on the bed and slowly walked to the window of the room.

Outside, a cluster of men were being greeted by a tall, broad-shouldered boy with messy jet-black hair. Jaime couldn't get a view of the boy's face. His eyes flicked from one man to the next, all still on horses. One man had a bright yellow cloak and an ugly, bushy beard, making him stand out the most amongst the men.

Jaime turned his attention to another man on Yellowcloak's left. He was dressed in faded red robes and had a head fully of messy, unkempt gray hair. Jaime's eyes narrowed.

"_He looks familiar,_" Jaime thought, staring at the red-robed man. "_But why_?"

Then, the answer hit him as though he'd been kicked by a horse. "Thoros," Jaime whispered to himself. "But he doesn't look the same…"

Jaime had always remembered Thoros for his extreme theatrics. The eccentric priest had been bald and fat when Jaime had last seen him. The red priest was a favorite of Robert Baratheon. The two drunkards would drink until one or both finally passed out in their own piss. Jaime's face curled in disgust. Few men would've recognized Thoros of Myr as he now looked. However, Jaime spent so much of time cleaning up the King, and subsequently, Thoros, that he'd never forget his face no matter what parlor tricks the priest used to disguise it.

Jaime started to move away from the window, but one last person caught his eye. The figure was as unremarkable as the rest of the party. The blinding yellow cloak and faded red robes stood out amongst the drab crowd. However, this figure stood out for an altogether different reason. The black cloak that covered this person's body was as unassuming as anyone else in the company. However, this one had a hood covering their face, unlike anyone else.

"Wonder who they're hiding there," Jaime murmured to himself. For a fleeting second, he thought perhaps it was Sansa Stark, already rescued. He thought perhaps Brienne hadn't lied after all, that they had been on a real mission to retrieve her all along.

Jaime's gut tightened and he knew that he was wrong as soon as he'd spoken. He misliked whatever or whoever was under that hood. Any man who had to hide his face was trouble. Then, the figure looked toward Jaime, or so he thought. The man's features were shadowed by the hood, making it impossible to see where the man was looking. At that, Jaime turned from the window and back to the bed to finish eating.

He never got the chance, however. Just as he sat down, the door opened again. This time, however, a tall, slim girl walked in. She wore a plain blue dress, a staple of common girls. Her brown hair fell loose across her shoulders, not unlike a young maid's. Though, Jaime reckoned she was a bit too old to still be a maid, especially since she was pretty. Pretty for a commoner, that is.

"Ser, you can follow me now," she said sternly. Her face was soft and round, but it scrunched as she spoke, making her resemble a grumpy septa.

"Why should I?" Jaime asked, drinking the last swallow of water.

"You can walk with me now, peacefully, or I can send someone to force you out. Coming with me now saves you a lot of pain," she replied. Jaime didn't doubt her. He rose from his spot on the bed and grabbed his sword belt, which had been lain out over a small, wooden chair near the door. He fumbled with the strap, but managed to get it on. His golden hand had remained fastened since he'd left camp. It seemed as though it had been forever ago he'd been in Pennytree, but it couldn't have been but three days past.

If this girl was nervous in Jaime's presence, she didn't show it. She confidently lead Jaime out of what he now realized was a small inn. Once outside, he was led to stand in front of Yellowcloak, who looked at Jaime with disdain.

Jaime's eyes took in these men all over again. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Brienne standing off to the side. Her face was twisted in misery. Beside her stood a young man, not long from having been a boy, who looked just as sullen. On Brienne's other side was a boy who was very young and looked ready to piss himself. He looked familiar to Jaime, though he didn't know why. He supposed one young boy looked the same as any other to him after all these years.

"Jaime Lannister," barked Yellowcloak, interrupting Jaime's thoughts. "You are here to answer for your crimes."

Jaime turned his head to look at Brienne. He wasn't sure what he felt in that moment. Anger, hurt, betrayal. Mostly anger. And not even at the wench. He was angry at himself for believing that anyone would ever see him for more than an oathbreaker… a kingslayer. Now he would die for his need for honor.

His green eyes met the wench's blue ones and he saw her mouth "I'm sorry" to him once more.


End file.
